


Parting Gifts

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Gliding Over All, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt leaves Jesse with a gift, but it's not the duffle bag of money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celeryy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeryy/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.

Jesse had been spending what felt like weeks just staring at the walls. He didn’t have the TV on, though he was pretty sure that it still worked. There wasn’t anything he wanted to do, anything that would get him to step off the couch and actually go accomplish anything at all.

Because, after all, what could fix all that had gone so wrong? He only slept out of sheer exhaustion anymore, because whenever he tried to willfully close his eyes he only saw Drew, only saw Gale, only saw body and blood and acid and a hundred other horrors.

He brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly even though it made his legs fall asleep when he did. Everything hurt, or, wait, everything felt numb. He didn’t even have Mr. White around to piss off or fight with anymore, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The horrible words the man had told him when he’d left at last still rang in his ears; not only that, but they rang true. That he was a junkie who would no doubt fall back into getting high, that he wasn’t a father, that he wasn’t anything. _What do you have left other than go-karts and video games?_

He couldn’t even cry anymore; it was as if all the tears had gone out of him. There wasn’t much left to do. He’d just have to stay here and wait, wait until something happened, until something ended it all. 

There was a knock on the door, and he flinched. Maybe Mr. White had come to finish him off. He’d heard about the ten men in prison, Mike’s guys. Saul had told him over the phone in a hushed whisper, a warning, the warning that man always seemed to be trying to give Jesse, not that he heeded it.

Jesse got up, picking up his gun as he did and sliding it into his waistband. His heart was pumping so hard that he could feel it all the way up in his neck. He closed his eyes a moment and tried to catch his breath before opening them, trying to show no fear as he made his way over to the door and opened it, pursing his lips together as he saw Mr. White on the other side of the door, gazing at him with an unreadable look on his face. He gazed down at Mr. White’s hands to see that he was holding a box of some sort. Well… that wasn’t too bad, right? Better a box than a gun. Unless… unless the box had some dead person inside it, or something horrible like that.

Jesse used all of his energy to keep himself from shaking. He would face Mr. White down, no matter what it meant. He couldn’t be afraid of the man anymore; and, yet, he was. Of course he was. He didn’t know how long that feeling had been there, under the surface, but Jesse was nearly terrified of his old mentor if he was going to be completely honest.

Mr. White asked to be let in, and Jesse didn’t really know what to say other than “yes”. Mr. White started to talk about the RV, about old times, and Jesse couldn’t figure out what he was getting at other than that maybe he was trying a different tact at getting Jesse to come back. But after the kid, after Drew Sharp… no. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. 

“I’m not coming back,” he said with what he hoped was firmness. 

“I know.” Mr. White looked at him and, again, Jesse didn’t know what was in his eyes. “I didn’t come to ask you back.”

“Then why?” Jesse asked, looking at him.

“I came to give you something.”

Jesse shivered, rooted to the spot, wondering if he could grab the gun and do it, actually do it, if what Mr. White had come to give him was a bullet in the head to keep him quiet.

Mr. White placed the box on Jesse’s floor and wordlessly opened it in the front. Jesse blinked as something jolted out of the box and immediately attached itself to Jesse’s leg.

Jesse looked down. The figure was small and golden colored, and was yapping.

A tiny golden retriever puppy.

Jesse stared at Mr. White, then back down at the puppy, wondering if this was real or whether he was trapped in the strangest dream of his life. All he could think to do was what he did next – reach down and pick up the little ball of fluff.

“Yo, Mr. White… you got me a dog?”

“Yes, Jesse, I did,” Mr. White replied. “She’s nine weeks old. She’s going to be a handful, that’s for sure, but I think… I think you’re up to the responsibility. I know you’ve been having a rough time lately, and that I haven’t really been helping. I started reading up on what I could do… to maybe help, and many people find animals a source of solace.”

“Solace,” Jesse whispered, holding the puppy up and looking it over. He didn’t think that he would ever find solace in his life. He wasn’t some lonely old man who needed a companion.

Yet, he wasn’t turning down the puppy, either, not handing him, or her, or it, back to Mr. White. 

The puppy leaned forward and in one fell swoop licked Jesse across the face.

Jesse let out a kind of yelp of surprise and was afraid he’d accidentally drop the little ball of fluff.

Instead, he held the tiny dog close to his chest and started to sob. 

Mr. White looked at him, then back at the door, as if he didn’t know quite how he was meant to handle the situation.

“Do you like her?” he inquired. 

Jesse nodded, slowly, putting the dog – her? – down only long enough to wipe at his face. 

“What’s her name?”

“I guess it’s up to you, Jesse,” Mr. White replied. “Right now she doesn’t have a name.”

“Harmony,” Jesse whispered. He didn’t even know where he came up with the name. Maybe it was a hope, a plea. He sat down on the ground and extended his hand, letting Harmony trot up and lick the hand as well. 

He looked up at Mr. White.

“Thank you,” he whispered. And he meant it. He didn’t know what he felt about Mr. White any more these days, but at least he was trying. And that meant something… didn’t it?

Maybe it meant that the rest of their days would be lived in, and with, harmony. Even if that was just wishful thinking.


End file.
